The Bat and The Phoenix
by Demigod of Magic
Summary: HP/DC crossover Harry is taken to Gotham City by his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and his cousin Dudley. His relatives are killed by the Joker and he is raised by Bruce Wayne, and eventually learns Bruce's secret and becomes Batman's sidekick; The Phoenix. He then attends Hogwarts, now raised and trained by the world's greatest detective.
1. Welcome to Gotham

A young scrawny boy listened to his relatives talk from the cupboard under the stairs that he was forced to call his bedroom, his unruly black hair pushed to the side as he pressed his ear against the cupboard door. He was careful to not put too much pressure on the cupboard door lest it open, exposing him. The boy was Harry Potter, his 'family' was his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and his cousin Dudley.

His Uncle Vernon was a large man, in both height and weight, while his Aunt Petunia was a long-necked woman whose ears were constantly scanning for gossip. Dudley was arguably the worst, he was as round as he was tall, and took a sick and sadistic delight in torturing Harry anyway he could think of.

Harry pressed his ear further against the cupboard door, straining his senses to hear his Uncle's voice, a spider loitering close to his ear which he ignored with a practised ease. "I'm telling you Tunie, it's a great opportunity," Uncle Vernon said convincingly. "Not only for Grunnings, but for us as well."

_So, it's about Grunnings,_ Harry thought to himself. Grunnings was the company that his Uncle Vernon worked for, which made and sold drills.

"But why us?" Aunt Petunia asked, her voice one of exasperated annoyance. "And why all of us?"

"Nobody else in the company wants to do it. And we all have to go because the investor is a family man and we need to make a good impression by having him meet another family man," Vernon responded.

"But what about _him_?" Petunia replied, and Harry instantly knew that he was the 'him' in question.

"I'm sure the cat lady can look after him for the week." Vernon's voice was smooth, likely having rehearsed and planned a reply for any of his wife's complaints.

"She's in hospital, one of her cats tripped her up," Petunia's voice was frustrated. "What about Marge?"

"At the vets, Ripper ate something he shouldn't've."

The two adults were silent for a minute, both considering their options. Eventually Vernon sighed with frustration. "I suppose we'll just have to take him with us," he said in an irritated and reluctant tone.

Vernon's heavy footsteps approached the door, and Harry scurried into the corner to hide the fact he was listening to their conversation. "Boy!" Vernon yelled as he roughly pulled the door open. "The family is going to America for my business, and you're coming with us." Harry nodded as his Uncle paused and narrowed his gaze at him. "But, if you mess this up for me, you will regret it." With that said, Vernon slammed the door shut and walked away.

The days leading up to the trip passed quickly, with Vernon and Petunia buying Dudley a variety of new clothes and toys and Harry a single formal suit. Harry stood facing the bathroom mirror a grin plastered on his face, the form-fitting suit being the first outfit that truly fit him, the black blazer and trousers matching his hair while his deep crimson tie complemented his bright green eyes.

Their suitcases were overflowing, with all manner of items, while Harry's only luggage was one of Dudley's old backpacks that had been found in the attic.

Getting in the car to drive to the airport, Vernon turned to look at Harry. "Remember what I said boy, if you mess this opportunity up for me, you will regret it."

Harry nodded weakly, as Dudley laughed and Petunia steeled her glare. Harry sat in silence as the family drove to the airport and eventually boarded their plane. Dudley was sat by the window, likely to give his simple brain a view to distract itself, Petunia sat in the middle, and Vernon sat in the aisle for the extra leg room his large body desperately needed. Harry, however, was on the aisle seat next to his Uncle, where his Uncle could observe and yell at Harry if needed. There was no need, Harry sat quietly as the plane flew as opposed to Dudley who threw a tantrum halfway through the flight as the window view failed to amuse him anymore. Instead he began to scream at how he was missing the new episode of his favourite cartoon. Harry simply ignored them, deciding to relax in the few minutes his family couldn't hurt him.

Eventually, the plane landed with a shake and slowed down until it came to a complete stop. The pilot's voice sounded from the intercom, "The local time is 11am. We hope you enjoy your stay in Gotham City."

The family checked into the grand and expensive hotel and went to their room. Vernon and Petunia took the queen-sized bed, Dudley took the double bed against the corner wall and Harry simply had a spare blanket thrown to him and toldm to sleep on the floor. "But there's room on Dudley's bed," Harry protested, looking at the free space on the bed that even Dudley's girth didn't cover.

Petunia glared at him, and reassured Dudley that he wouldn't have to share a bed with Harry. Vernon was less vocal and slapped Harry across the face, sending him to the floor before standing over him and yelling, "Enough of your backtalk. Any of that at the meeting and you will not be coming back home with us. Understood?"

Harry felt his face burn where he was hit, but refused to let the tears in his eyes fall. Harry nodded and Vernon sneered but backed away.

Harry got to his feet, went to the bathroom in attempt to look presentable, and then sat on his blanket in total silence.

Hours passed and eventually Harry was ordered to get ready. He got dressed in his fitting-suit, as Aunt Petunia covered his face in make-up to conceal the red hand mark, and waited for Dudley to finish his tantrum.

Dudley was stomping his feet in frustration. "I don't want to go!" he shouted, snot seeping from his nose. "It's going to be boring!"

"I know Duddykins," Aunt Petunia said in a sickly-sweet voice as she abandoned Harry to dab at Dudley's nose. "But it's at a restaurant and we'll let you eat whatever you want, won't we Vernon?"

Vernon nodded swiftly. "Anything for my growing boy," he said, patting Dudley on the back, who had instantly calmed at the mention of food.

As Petunia cleaned Dudley's face and got him dressed in his suit (Harry was reminded of a bowling ball, black and round), Harry waited by the door and quickly the four walked to the nearby restaurant where the business meeting was taking place. Vernon made sure that they got to the meeting place early, so he could prep his family and what and what not to say.

Entering the building, Vernon strolled grandly in an attempt to look far more important than he was until he reached the staff podium. "We have a reservation for a table for eight at five o'clock," he declared grandiosely. Harry looked around at the restaurant, it was a posh looking building, with royal blue tablecloths draped over the tables and the smell of sizzling meat filled the air.

The staff worker looked nonplussed by Vernon's high-and-mighty attitude but asked professionally, "And the reservation name?"

Vernon stuck out his chest, as though this would increase his influence. "Wayne," he said pompously. "Bruce Wayne."

The server's eyes widened. "Right this way." The server directed the family to a table at the back of the room. "I'm sure Mr Wayne will be along shorty." Vernon nodded, and directed his family at where to sit. Vernon sat at the end of the table, opposite where Mr Wayne would sit. Petunia sat next to Vernon so she could contribute to the conversation between Vernon and Mr Wayne while still being able to quieten Dudley if needed. Dudley was next to Petunia in attempt to keep him out of the adult conversation. Harry was next to Dudley, to keep him out of the way, where he could be seen but not have a say in anything.

When the server was out of earshot, Vernon looked at the family. He turned to Petunia first, "Alright love, if Mr Wayne asks about the family, we are a typical nuclear family who adopted _him_," he glared at Harry who sank into his seat, "after the death of his parents. The Wayne man adopted his kid, so he'll eat that up." Petunia nodded politely to show her understanding.

Vernon looked at Dudley next. "Alright Dudders, unless Mr Wayne talks to you, you do not say anything to him. This is an adult conversation, so to keep you busy we'll buy you whatever you want to eat." Dudley grinned at the bribe of food and immediately lunged for a menu.

Glaring, Vernon turned his attention to Harry. "You do not say anything to Mr Wayne. You can talk to the kid he brings, but you do not say or do anything that can ruin this for me. Understood?" Harry nodded and sat quietly until Mr Wayne and his adopted-son approached, both dressed in formal suits and ties. Mr Wayne appeared to be in his thirties and was lean and well-muscled as opposed to Vernon's blubber. The son looked to be in around twelve, and was tall and toned, compared to Dudley's fat and Harry's scrawniness.

Vernon stuck his hand out for a handshake. "Mr Wayne," he said professionally, trying to show superiority by tightly holding the handshake, only to wince as Mr Wayne returned the firm handshake.

"Call me Bruce," he replied with a sparking smile. "This is my ward, Dick." He indicated the boy standing with him, who gave a formal inclination of the head as Dudley tried to hide his giggles at the name.

"In that case, call me Vernon. This is my wife Petunia." He waved his hand to Petunia, who smiled in response. "Our son, Dudley." He pointed to Dudley, who was too busy to react as he was still trying to decide what he wanted from the menu. Finally, he pointed at Harry. "And this is our adopted son, who we kindly took in after the tragic deaths of his parents," Vernon said with false pride, already trying to manipulate Bruce's view of him.

Bruce Wayne nodded and assessed Harry, before offering out his hand for a handshake. Harry hesitated before shaking the hand, noticing the callous skin on his knuckles. "Pleased to meet you Harry. Sorry to hear about your parents," he said sincerely. Harry looked at Vernon, who was subtlety shaking his head at Harry, reminding him not to talk, so he resorted to nodding.

Bruce sat at the seat opposite Vernon while Dick looked between Dudley and Harry, deciding to sit opposite Harry. "Let's order and start our business talk, shall we?" Bruce said to the agreement of everyone.

Vernon stuck his hand out grandly and clicked his fingers loudly, attracting the attention of their server who walked over. Bruce was the first to order, "Steak, well done, with a diet coke please."

Dick was next, "Burger and fries, diet coke please."

Vernon leisurely conversed with Petunia and Dudley before ordering. "Two large mixed grills, one salad. One of your finest beers, a glass of your best wine, and one orange juice."

The server nodded and looked at Harry. "And for you?" he asked.

Harry was reluctant, he knew his Uncle would punish him for ordering anything expensive but would also punish him for looking suspicious and ordering cheaply. "Burger and fries," he settled on, mirroring Dick's order. "With a glass of water please."

The server nodded, wrote down their order before taking their leave. Bruce and Vernon began their arduous conversation about work, while Petunia began to talk to Dudley to keep him from interrupting.

Harry and Dick both sat in silence, before Dick asked Harry where he was from.

"Surrey, in England," Harry whispered quietly, trying to be unheard by Vernon, an act that did not go unnoticed by Bruce, Dick, and Vernon, all of their eyes narrowing at him with various emotions.

Dick nodded. "And you came to Gotham for this." He gestured to the conversation between Vernon and Bruce.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "We're here for a week and then we go back home."

Dick was about to reply, when a loud scream sounded accompanied by most of the restaurant running out. Bruce held his hand up to stop Vernon talking as they looked at the building's entrance.

Standing there was a man with mossy green hair, bleach-white skin, and an eccentrically bright purple suit. The man was waving around a knife in his left hand and holding a gun in his other hand, a maniacal grin stretched across his face. Next to him was a slender woman, her blonde hair in pigtails dyed red and black, wearing a matching red and black leather outfit. In her hands was a large mallet that she was swinging round with ease despite its great size.

"Who are they?" Vernon asked Bruce, only to look and see that Bruce and Dick had both vanished while they were all distracted. "We should leave," Vernon decided. The four of them quickly rose and attempted to leave only for the green haired man to stop them, aiming his gun directly at them, the knife lazily held by his side.

The man cackled insanely at the sight of them. "Somebody call the paparazzi, there's a beached-whale in here," he yelled mockingly.

Vernon was instantly offended and advanced on the man, his face turning an angry purple. "Listen here, I am a respectable business man, unlike you," he shouted only to silenced as the knife was thrown through the air and embedded itself into Vernon's leg, much to the man and woman's amusement.

"Now, I'm in the mood for a game," the green haired man said, as he walked over to Vernon and ripped the knife from Vernon's leg, causing him to give out an agonising scream as blood leaked from the wound. The man continued to talk, not deterred by the screams or aura of fear in the air. "I want one of you," he waved his hand in the general vicinity of the Dursleys and Harry, "to die." He grinned, showing yellowing teeth. "But I don't want to pick. That would be too easy, too boring. You get to decide instead."

Harry's heart sunk, he knew they'd pick him in heartbeat and his worries were confirmed when his Uncle quickly shouted, "The boy. Kill the boy." He pointed at Harry.

The man sauntered over to Harry and looked him up and down, studying him. The man turned to look at the Dursley family. "Why kill him?" he asked, grinning broadly, his knife slowly dripping blood onto Harry's suit.

His Aunt Petunia was the one to respond. "He's a freak, just like his parents were."

"Hmm," the man considered this answer, before shaking his head. "Wrong choice." The man raised his gun, aiming at Vernon's head before firing. The bullet pierced Vernon's head, exiting the back of it and sending a spray of blood at the floor behind him.

The room was filled by the Petunia's scream and the scent of urine as Dudley's body gave way to the fear. The man smirked at the reaction before looking at his accomplice. "Take care of her," he ordered, looking at Petunia.

The woman laughed, picking up her mallet and bringing it down with a sickening crunch as it impacted Petunia's skull. Petunia's body crumpled instantly and fell to the floor, her head reduced to little more than pulp.

A new voice was heard behind them, this voice was deep and grizzly. "Joker," the voice yelled. "What have you done"?

The green-haired man, Joker, spun round excitedly. "Batman. I was wondering when you'd show up."

Batman stepped into view. He was wearing a dark grey costume with a black bat emblazoned on the chest. A cowl concealed the top half of his head, and gloves and boots covered his hands and feet. Behind was another boy, this one wearing a red chest cover and green boots and gloves.

"Enough talk," Batman declared. "Robin, get them."

Batman leapt over the podium separating him and Joker, dropping pellets which released smoke as he soared through the air. Using the distraction, Harry and Dudley both hid under tables, but both kept watching the scene unfold, almost entranced by the horror.

The Joker sprang through the air with his knife, which was swiftly deflected by Batman's reflexes as he blocked the attack with his arm. Batman grabbed Joker's arm and held it, pushing down on it before throwing Joker to the floor.

Batman did not wait until Joker was able to get back up, before charging delivering a flying knee to the man's head, which he did not get back up from.

Harry cheered silently as the Joker fell and turned to look at Robin fighting the woman. The woman was swinging her mallet wildly, but Robin was faster as he ducked and weaved to avoid it.

"You want do this the hard way, Harley?" Robin pulled out a metal stick from his sleeves which he connected and extended in his grasp. He attacked, swinging it at the woman's legs, tripping her up. Next, he threw what looked like bird-shaped boomerangs which pinned the woman to floor where she could not escape.

Dudley and Harry both sat in silence until police cars approached and took Joker and Harley Quinn away, both laughing as though they were sharing an inside joke. Bruce appeared in between the tables that Harry and Dudley were under. "You boys can come out now."

Dudley and Harry both scurried out from their hiding places, where Dudley immediately began to cry hysterically at the sight of his parents' bloody corpses. Bruce placed a hand on Dudley's shoulder. "I'm sorry about what has happened," he said truthfully. "Do you two have any family you could live with?"

Dudley gave a great sniff but nodded, thinking of his Aunt Marge. Harry also thought of his Aunt Marge and shook his head.

Bruce comforted Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. _First his parents die, now this._ "Well then Harry, I guess you'll just have to stay with me."

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	2. The Bat

Bruce drove down his expansive driveway, Harry ogling the sprawling manor as they approached, Dick sat beside him with his arms crossed. Stepping out of Bruce's car, Harry hesitated slightly before he followed Bruce as he opened the large front door and entered the Gothic mansion. "Alfred!" Bruce yelled when the three of them stood inside the front hall.

Harry marvelled at the sight of the front hall, craning his head to take it all in. He was certain that the Dursley's could have fit their entire house into the room, with space still to spare, a thought Harry quickly rejected as he remembered the bodies of the Dursley family. Black walls bordered the room, with statues and paintings dotting the back walls, an ornate grandfather clock stood near the front door. Doors were at both walls next to the front door, with a marble staircase that split in the middle at the furthest wall.

"Yes, Master Bruce?" a voice said from the top of the staircase. A thin man with a balding head and a pencil moustache stepped down the stairs. "How did your meeting go?" The man looked at Harry with curiosity as he walked towards the group.

Bruce shook his head. "I'll tell you later." He indicated Harry. "This is Harry, Harry this is my butler, Alfred. Alfred, I've decided to …" Bruce took a deep breath. "We will be taking care of him for the foreseeable future. Potentially adopting him, if that is something he wishes."

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock. Adopt him? He knew Dick was adopted, but couldn't comprehend why he would offer to adopt Harry.

If Alfred was surprised, the man hid it well behind a neutral expression. Instead, he simply nodded. "Very well, Sir. Would you like me to show Master Harry to a spare room?"

Bruce smiled thankfully. Whereas Alfred had concealed his shock at the adoption revelation, Dick did not. He was spluttering away, only quieting himself at Bruce's glare.

Alfred led Harry up the staircase and to an extended corridor. The two walked in silence until Alfred stopped at a room. Opening the door, Harry looked in and took the surroundings in. The walls were a deep blue, with a white queen-sized in the middle of the far wall. "This will be your room, Master Harry, for as long as you which to stay," Alfred informed politely.

Harry paused as he tried to figure out what to say. "Thank you, Alfred," Harry settled on.

Alfred smiled, before taking his leave, leaving Harry alone in his new room. Harry sat on his bed for a few minutes, eventually stepping out of his room and into the corridor, where he wandered down until he heard voices belonging to Bruce and Dick.

"You want to adopt him?" Dick asked incredulously. Harry knew he was the 'him' in question and he pressed his ear against the door to eavesdrop, painfully aware that a week ago he was in the same situation with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. "You've known him for less than a day."

Harry heard Bruce sigh through the door. "The kid needs a good life, Dick," Bruce said, his voice gentle. "We both saw what he was like, he looked at his Uncle before he even thought about speaking, he kept looking at his Uncle, like the kid was waiting for him to snap. And I'm sure you noticed the bruise on his face, whoever tried to cover that up obviously had no idea what they were doing."

"But why adopt him, why not just find an orphanage?" Dick replied.

"How have you been since I adopted you?" Bruce questioned. "I don't mean your body, I mean your mind."

"I guess," Dick paused and sighed. "I guess it got good. And I guess it needs to get good for him as well."

"Glad you understand," Bruce said, and the two fell into a comfortable silence.

"Does this mean you're going to tell him?" Dick asked after a minute, and Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _Tell me what_, he thought to himself.

Bruce was quiet for a few more moments. "I don't know," he admitted, his tone one of regret. "What if he blames us for being too slow?"

Dick's reply was too soft to hear and Harry strained to listen. It was Bruce that Harry was eventually able to hear. "Enough of this talk, go see if Harry is ok, and try to be his friend."

The day Harry was rescued, Dumbledore sat in his office consulting a device from his desk, having noticed it the instant he woke up. The device was a small silver hourglass used to monitor the blood wards surrounding 4 Privet Drive. It was supposed to be coursing with red smoke, but the smoke had suddenly turned to white liquid. Which Dumbledore knew could mean only one thing. Petunia, and by extension the protective wards around Harry, had been ended while Harry himself was unharmed.

His sombre musings were interrupted by an owl, brown and scrawny, tapping on the window with a letter held in its beak. With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore opened the window, allowing the bird to glide in.

Dumbledore recognised the handwriting immediately as Arabella Figg's, the woman he trusted to keep an eye on Harry. He opened the letter, already fearing he knew the message.

_Albus,_

_At your earliest convenience, please visit. _

_Arabella._

Dumbledore rose to his feet before Apparating, instantly materialising in an alleyway near Arabella's home. He strode with determination to the house, knocking on the door once he arrived.

"Out of the way Snowy," Dumbledore heard Arabella order as she made her way to the door. She opened the door, her aged eyes softened at seeing Dumbledore. "You got the message then? Good, good. Didn't want to put it in writing, never know if owls are getting intercepted." Her grey hair was duller than normal and she seemed stressed, her right leg wrapped in a cast, a white cat by her side.

Dumbledore gave a calming smile. "Arabella, what seems to be the issue?"

"It's the Dursleys," she explained frantically. "They're gone. I was talking to Lisa next door, she was told that Mrs Peters at Number 3 heard from Mr Cooper at Number 12 that Mr Walker at Number 11 saw the Dursleys and Harry leave for a holiday. But then, the week after, Mr Walker's partner, Mr Walker, saw Vernon's sister drive by with Dudley, pick up his belongings and leave, now the house is up for sale."

Albus nodded. It was as he feared. "Arabella," he said solemnly. "What I tell you cannot be shared to anybody."

"'Course, what is it?"

"Harry is unharmed and in no malicious danger. His family members have been less fortunate. I will do what I can to find out what has happened, please do not inform anybody of what has happened. The more people that know, the greater the chance that Harry will be endangered." With that, he took his leave.

A year passed, Harry was safe in his new home, undiscovered by Dumbledore or anybody that wished him harm. Harry did in fact want to be adopted and thus he became Harry Wayne settling into his new and improved life, finally experiencing friendship and familial love for the first time in memory.

Harry relished when Bruce and Dick were present the manor and did not question them when they suddenly left, having been told they would explain when he was older.

But eventually Harry grew tired of it, when Alfred, Bruce, Dick, and Harry were in the middle of dinner, Bruce received a phone call, gave a meaningful look to Dick, and rushed away with Dick in pursuit. Sadly, Harry turned to Alfred. "Alfred," Harry asked," do you know where they go when they leave?"

Alfred shook his head, his mouth in a thin line. "The where, and the why, they leave changes every time," Alfred explained. "I'm sure they'll tell you one day."

"I wish they didn't go," Harry replied sadly. "Or I wish I could go with them."

Alfred looked wistfully at the door his wards had run out of before speaking softly, not noticing the barely audible pop that sounded. "As do I," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry. He turned his attention back to where Harry was previously sat, and blinked in puzzlement at the now empty seat. This was Harry's first use of, what he would later be told was called, accidental magic.

Harry reappeared under the Wayne Manor, confused at what had happened. One second he had been thinking about how he wanted to be with Bruce and Dick, the next second he was in an expansive underground cave. The walls were made of stone, an expensive-looking, sleek car was near the cave's exit, and an oversized computer was near Harry.

Harry, however, saw none of this, instead looking at Bruce and Dick in uncertainty. Bruce was in a Batman costume, the cowl down leaving his face uncovered, and Dick was in his brightly coloured Robin uniform, the domino mask in his hand.

Harry couldn't hold his gasp of surprise in, and the two whirled round to face him. The stunned silence was palpable. "Harry," Bruce said carefully. "How did you get in here?"

Harry ignored the question, looking between the two people he thought he knew well. "You're Batman," he yelled at Bruce. "And you're Robin," he shouted at Dick, who was looking in puzzlement between Harry and Bruce.

"How did you get in here?" Bruce repeated.

"I ... I don't know," Harry admitted, unable to keep the mixture of excitement and confusion out of his answer. "One second I was in the dining room, next I was here. It was just like magic."

Bruce rubbed the back of his head. "We'll explain this-" he gestured to the suits, "-when we get back. I promise. You can take the elevator back up to the main room." He pointed to an elevator before him and Dick put on their masks, got in the car, and drove speedily away.

Harry walked to the elevator and called it, entered, and selected the ground floor option. Stepping out of it when the doors opened, Harry was stunned to see it was the grandfather clock in the front hall that had disguised the elevator.

"Alfred!" Harry shouted.

Alfred soon approached from the dining room. "There you are Master Harry. Where did you go?"

Bobbing with excitement, Harry began to ramble. "I was in the dining room, with you, and then I was under the house in a cave, and Bruce and Dick were there, but they're actually Batman and Robin," he said in one breath.

Alfred nodded, rather calm about the situation. "I supposed you would find out eventually. But how did you get down there in the first place?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to be with them, and then I was."

"I suppose Master Bruce will consider it when he returns."

The two sat in silence for what seemed like an age, until the grandfather clock opened, and out stepped Bruce and Dick. Dick stood, still and soundless, as Bruce walked over to Harry. "Harry," Bruce said, his tone cautious. "What did you see down there?"

"You're Batman. Dick is Robin," Harry replied.

Bruce closed his eyes and began to breathe heavily to calm himself. "You understand you can't tell anybody of what you saw."

"I want to help you," Harry said quickly. "Can I help?"

Bruce shook his head. "You have no training, no costume, no skills."

Harry looked annoyed. "I can teleport," he said incredulously. "It's how I got down there." He pointed to the clock to prove his point.

"But you don't know how to use it," Bruce countered. "You can't defend yourself." Seeing Harry was about to interject, Bruce continued speaking, "So, if you're serious about this, your training starts tomorrow."

The next morning soon approached, and Harry stood outside of Bruce's bedroom door, knocked loudly, and waited for a response. Bruce opened the door, his eyes showing his tiredness. "Harry, it's early."

"But my training," Harry said.

"Fine," Bruce replied. "Go get Dick and take the clock elevator to the Batcave."

Harry grinned and rushed to Dick's room and hammered eagerly on the door. "Open up!" he ordered. "Bruce wants us in the Batcave for training."

Dick opened the door, rolling his eyes but smiled. The two walked to the elevator and Dick pressed the ten on the clock, then the four, and finally the eight. The clock gave a soft ding, and the elevator began to rise. "You excited about the training?" Dick asked. "You know it's going to be hard, right?"

Harry rubbed his hands together. "I know. I still want to do it."

The boys stepped into the elevator, and Dick pushed the button that took them to the Batcave.

Stepping out of the elevator, Harry was surprised to see that Bruce, donned in his Batman costume, was already stood in the middle of a circle. "Good to see you," Batman spoke, Harry noticing his voice was deeper and more serious than Bruce's natural and casual tone. "We'll be teaching you hand-to-hand combat today. Both of you, step into the training ring." Dick and Harry both made their way into the ring, and stood at opposite ends facing each other. "Harry, try and hit Dick. Dick, try to defend yourself," Bruce instructed.

Dick raised his hands in a defensive position. "You ready?" he questioned.

Harry ignored the question, and rushed forwards, readying his fist as he ran. Dick raised his hands, grabbing Harry's outstretched arm, and Harry saw the ground rush towards him as his legs were swept from under him.

Harry suppressed the pain from impacting the floor and forced himself back to his feet. "Good, getting back up is an important lesson," Bruce commented. "Try again." Harry readied his fists again, this time knowing that Dick could easily deflect him.

Surging forward, Harry attempted a wild kick. His foot was caught with ease and the next thing he knew he was lying on his back.

Bruce smiled. Harry was sloppy and untrained but he knew Harry had potential and willingness to learn.

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	3. Magic Revealed

It had been over two years since Harry had discovered Bruce and Dicks' secret identities and began his training.

Harry and Dick were both in the training circle again, like they did three times a week, Dick dressed in his Robin outfit and Harry in his training outfit, which consisted of a sun coloured yellow top and fire red trousers.

The two circled each other, both of their hands raised offensively. Robin was the first to strike, a fist aimed at Harry's chest. The attack was parried by Harry's arm, before he delivered a backspin kick to Robin's chest.

Robin went to the floor but used the momentum to roll back into a crouching position, where he attacked, a low kick to Harry's chest.

Harry caught the outstretched leg and pulled, sending Robin to the floor on his back.

Robin laughed from the floor before standing up and leaving the circle. "You've got the hang of this," he complimented.

Harry grinned as he also exited the circle. "Thanks," he replied. "Guess you and Bruce are pretty good teachers."

Robin's grin faltered slightly. "Did Bruce tell you the news yet?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "What news?"

"I'm leaving Gotham."

Harry was stunned into silence. "Why?" he eventually asked.

"Gotham's going to be in good hands with you and Bruce. So, I'm going to Jump City. I can help them and make a name for myself. I leave tomorrow."

Harry felt tears sting his eyes, as the feelings of abandonment set in. Dick was the only friend he had, and now he was leaving him, just like the Dursleys had done many times.

Harry barely registered he was running until he was outside Bruce's door, pounding as loud as he could. The door opened and Bruce stood there. "I'm guessing Dick told you the news then."

"I don't want him to leave," Harry sobbed. "Make him stay."

Bruce sighed, sat on his bed, before Harry joined him. "So, you want to ignore what Dick wants, to make him do what you want him to do?"

Harry crossed his arms angrily. "No!" he complained. "I want him to want to stay."

"He doesn't want to stay," Bruce explained softly. "And you can't make somebody do something just because it's what you want." Harry began to cry and curled into the foetal position on Bruce's bed. Bruce looked at Harry and smiled sadly. "I know," Bruce said, patting Harry on the back. "I feel the same way."

A year passed and Harry settled into normalcy, training with Bruce. Bruce had decided that Harry was too young to become a sidekick, and so Bruce returned to fighting crime solo while harry was trained more.

The normalcy was shattered in June of 1991, with a simple letter. Alfred entered the Batcave while Bruce and Harry were training, a parchment in his hand. "Apologies for the interruption," Alfred said. "But Master Harry has a rather important letter."

Harry took the letter, slightly confused and Alfred and Bruce waited for Harry to open it. Harry scanned the envelope. It was a crisp white colour, with a dark red wax seal.

The envelope was addressed to him, and read Harry Wayne, Wayne Manor, Gotham City.

Harry opened the letter and began reading it aloud. "Dear Mr Wayne. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..." Harry trailed off, giving an incredulous look at the letter before continuing. "Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall."

Harry looked at Bruce and Alfred in disbelief. "Is this a joke?" he asked sceptically.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders and took the letter from Harry's hands. But it was Alfred's reply that shocked. "No Master Harry. Hogwarts is very much real."

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Alfred. "What do you mean?"

Alfred took a moment to compose himself before he explained, "Hogwarts is a school in Britain for those with Magic."

"How do you know all this Alfred," Bruce asked.

"My parents met there," he said simply.

Harry was confused. "Does that mean you're a Wizard as well?"

Alfred shook his head sadly. "No, I am what is known, in the Wizarding World, as a Squib. Somebody born to magical parents who has no magic of their own."

"You never mentioned any of this," Bruce said firmly.

Shrugging, Alfred replied, "By the time I was eleven I knew I had no magic. My parents sent me to the finest Muggle schools they could find to compensate. When I was eighteen I joined the army, and my parents died while I was deployed. They were my only connection to the magical world. With them gone I left for America and lived a normal life, or as normal as can be when you are the caretaker for a man dressed as a bat." Alfred's eyes were glazed in remembrance.

"So, this is real?" Bruce indicated the letter.

"I would say so," Alfred replied, taking the letter out of Bruce's grasp. "My parents were quite saddened when I did not get this," he muttered, more to himself than the others. He turned it around to look at the other side. "This is what you'll need to buy before you start. You can get it from Diagon Alley in London," he said as he handed the shopping list to Harry.

Bruce nodded, in thought. "Alfred, pen a reply with Harry's response," he instructed, as Harry shouted he wanted to go. "Harry, give me the list, we will all go shopping for these tomorrow."

Harry woke early the next morning, the sunlight streaming through his bedroom curtains. Although he was awake, he kept his eyes firmly shut. "It was a dream," he told himself. "I dreamed that letter told me I was magic. When I open my eyes, Bruce will be knocking on my door for training."

A loud knocking at the door snapped Harry from his musings. Harry sighed and got out of his bed.

"Master Harry," Alfred's voice said, muffled slightly from behind the door. "Are you ready for shopping?"

"Shopping?" Harry asked, excitement building at the potential realism of the situation.

"Yes, shopping at Diagon Alley. Master Bruce has brought a person who knows how to get us there."

"Thanks Alfred," Harry shouted. "I'll be there soon." Harry got dressed at a breakneck pace, before sprinting into the main room, where Bruce, Alfred, and woman stood waiting.

The woman was tall and thin, and appeared to be in her early twenties at the oldest. She was dressed in, what Harry could only describe as, a female magicians outfit with fishnet stockings, a tight white top, and a magician hat on her hat. "Harry, I presume?" she said as Harry neared.

"Yes," Harry replied, somewhat hesitant of the newcomer.

Bruce took the lead. "Harry, this is the closest thing to a magical advisor I could find. Meet Zatanna, she's also magic."

"Heard you only found out about all this yesterday," Zatanna said to Harry.

Harry nodded. "So, you're magic as well? Did you go to Hogwarts?" Harry hadn't realised how excited he was about talking to someone like him.

Zatanna laughed. "No, Hogwarts is for British people. In America, we have Ilvermorny and Castelobruxo."

"So, did you to one of them?" Harry asked. His eyes narrowed in confusion before he questioned, "Why aren't I going to one of them?"

"I was actually home-schooled by my father. And you're going to Hogwarts since you would've been enrolled there since you were born in Britain."

Bruce put his hands on Harry shoulders, ending the conversation. "Sorry to bring this to a halt, but we do have things to be doing."

Zatanna nodded. "Everybody link hands," she ordered, and everybody complied. Bruce kept a hand on Harry's shoulder and touched Alfred's hand with his other. Zatanna placed her hand on Alfred, before she intoned, "Ekat su ot nogaid yella."

Harry's confusion was quickly replaced by nausea when it felt as though he was being forcefully pulled through his own navel. The confusion returned when he saw he was no longer in Wayne Manor's main hall, but was outside a tiny, grimy pub named the Leaky Cauldron. "Here we are," Zatanna said, rather cheerfully.

The four entered the pub and Harry looked around. The pub was dimly lit and a layer of dirt stained most tables. Few patrons were scattered around the pub, and the group went unnoticed by them as they walked to the bald barman.

Alfred stood at the bar and waited patiently for the barman to acknowledge them. "We'd like to get through to Diagon Alley," Alfred told the man when he looked. "We have one Muggle with us." He indicated Bruce.

The barman pulled out his wand, something that Harry would have to get used to, and pointed it at Bruce. A soft blue glow came from the wand and went to Bruce. "That should let him in," the barman said, showing his yellowing teeth as he talked. "Want me to open the way?"

The barman's eyes flicked from Bruce, to Alfred, to Zatanna (where Harry noticed his gaze lingered unnecessarily for a few seconds) and finally to Harry. "Is this … are you … you are … Harry Potter," he yelled, his stare fixed on Harry's scar.

The room suddenly went eerily silent, before the patrons of the bar rushed towards Harry shoving their hands towards him and yelling causing him to cower slightly.

"Enough," Bruce commanded, and everybody stopped. "I do not know why you are doing this, and I do not care. But you are scaring him, and you will stop." He glared at the patrons, who meekly returned to their seats but did not stop whispering or glancing.

One man stepped forwards from the crowd. He was dressed in a deep purple robe and had a light purple turban wrapped around his head. "V-V-Very nicely h-handled," the man complimented Bruce.

"Thank you," Bruce replied, his voice still firm. "Any reason you're not reacting the same as them?"

The man laughed weakly. "I w-will be seeing a-a lot of P-P-Potter," the man stuttered, "since I-I am a professor at H-Hogwarts. Professor Q-Quirrell at your s-service."

Harry brushed past Bruce, his excitement overpowering his nerves. "What do you teach?"

"D-Defence Against the D-Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell replied. "Not th-that you need it." He chuckled feebly. "Pi-picking up your e-equipment?" Harry nodded. "I'll open the way."

Professor Quirrell led the four to a weeded courtyard, where he pulled out his wand and tapped a brick on the wall, before he bid his farewells and retreated to the pub.

Harry stared at the brick that Professor Quirrell had tapped. The brick was wriggling, as though it was struggling to escape, before a small hole appeared in its centre. The hole enlarged until it formed an archway that led to a cobbled street that twisted its way out of sight.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Alfred announced grandly. "Now, our first stop will be the bank."

Alfred walked down the street and the rest followed. Harry was astonished at the sights, wishing he could just stop and stare at everything: the shops that sold all manner of items, the robed people trying to do their shopping, the variety of hooting owls down the street.

Several young children were stood against a shop. "The newest broom model." Harry heard one of them say.

Harry paused outside of the shop with Bruce and Alfred, and read the card under the broom labelled Nimbus 2000. The card told how the broom could reach top speeds of 80 miles per hour and how it was available for 340 Galleons.

"What's a Galleon," Harry asked Alfred.

"Wizarding money," he responded. "About five dollars to a Galleon, I believe."

"So that's …" Harry stopped to work out the conversion rate. "1700 dollars," he said incredulously. He turned to Bruce. "You know, I'll need transport to help with your _job._"

Bruce hid his smirk. "I'll think about it," he replied neutrally.

Alfred tapped both of them on the shoulders. "I must insist we do what we intended, which is to buy Master Harry's school essentials."

Harry pouted but followed Alfred to a tall white building which proudly stood above the other shops. Next a set of bronze doors, stood a creature with tanned skin, large pointed ears and nose, and dark slanted eyes. The creature was dressed in spotless iron armour, with a gold and scarlet outfit over the top. The creature bowed deeply and showed sharpened teeth as the group passed, and Harry had to stop himself from staring.

As soon as they were at another set of doors, this one silver, Harry turned to Alfred. "Alfred, what was-"

"A goblin," Alfred responded. "Gringotts is run by them."

They went through the silver doors, and Harry looked around the vast marble hall they now stood in. Goblins lined the walls at desks, doing a variety of tasks: measuring coins, weighing gems, and signing paperwork.

"Excuse me," Alfred said to a goblin at the front counter. "We've come to see if Master Wayne has any vaults."

The goblin nodded, and gestured for Harry to step closer. The goblin indicated a quill and parchment on the table. "Draw blood with the quill," he instructed, his voice guttural.

Harry hesitated, but did so when Alfred smiled reassuringly, jabbing the quill in his finger with just enough force for blood to drip. The quill began to write on parchment, which Harry read along with as it wrote.

_Harry Wayne (Formerly Potter)_

_Father: James Potter_

_Mother: Lily Potter nee Evans._

_Vault number: 687_

The goblin looked at Harry and then back to the parchment. "Very well," he said slowly, tapping the parchment. "I will have someone take you to your vault. Here is your key." Harry's eyes widened in amazement as the parchment hovered slightly in the air, before morphing, its paper texture becoming gold and its shape changing to a key. "Griphook, take these people to Vault 687!"

Zatanna looked at the approaching goblin. "You know, if you don't need me, I'm going to wander around. Might do some shopping. I'll wait at the ice-cream store, find me when you're done." With that she left.

The goblin, Griphook, approached. He was short, about a foot under Harry's height, and had greying hair. Griphook silently led the group through a set of doors, taking them to a rail cart. As soon as they were all seated the cart took off, speeding through the through the track on its own accord.

The cart lurched to a halt, and Harry saw the small door with 687 emblazoned on its front. Harry unlocked the door with his key and gasped at what was inside. Mountains of gold coins, stacks of silver and piles of bronze. Harry eagerly collected as much of the coins as he could, cramming them into his pockets, bag, and anywhere that they would go.

Alfred waited until Harry had a satisfactory amount of money in his possession. "Now that that's done, let's get started with the supplies. The closest shop we need is for your uniform, so that will be our first stop." Alfred looked at the shopping list.

The three people, and Griphook, re-entered the rail cart and sped back to the top of Gringotts and left the building. Alfred pointed to a nearby shop, _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, _which they entered_._

Alfred and Bruce waited by the door, next to another man and woman, while Harry walked to a short woman dressed in all mauve. "First year at Hogwarts, dear?" the woman asked as Harry approached. "Got another first year being fitted up right now."

In the back of the room, a girl with frizzy brown hair was stood on a footstool, while a second worker pinned up her robes.

Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to the girl, and slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it.

"Hello," the girl next to Harry said, her gaze fixed forwards as she was being pinned, "I'm Hermione Granger. Are you also going into your first year?"

"I am," Harry responded, happy to be talking to another magical person his own age. "I'm Harry Wayne."

"Are you American?" she asked. "I noticed your accent."

"I'm technically British, but I have spent the last few years in America."

"My dad's cousin, Dawn, lives in America too. I read up on the American schools and thought about asking her about them but my Dad says she doesn't know anything not about the Muggle world."

"My relatives only just found out about magic, its a bit of a shock."

"It's so exciting though, isn't it? This whole magic thing. I didn't believe it until we got an owl, and then a professor turned up to our house and made my teacup dance." Her sentences where breathless as she smiled. "What house do you think you'll be in?"

Taken aback by the girl's long-winded sentence, Harry paused. "House?" he eventually asked.

"Are you Muggle-Born as well?" she asked enthusiastically. "I am. Muggle-Born I mean. Have you not read Hogwarts: A History?"

"I only found out about magic yesterday," he replied.

"Well then," her voice turned into that of a lecturer, "the four houses are: Gryffindor who favour bravery and chivalry, Hufflepuff who like hard work and friendship, Ravenclaw appreciates intelligence and those who want to be more knowledge, and Slytherin who are ambitious and cunning."

"I don't know then," Harry admitted.

"Personally, I hope for either Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, although Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad. As long as it's not Slytherin. They tend to not be fond of Muggle-Borns."

The two continued to talk as Hermione's parents turned to Bruce. "It's nice to see her getting along with people," her father said to Bruce. "I'm Lucas, Hermione's father. This is Matilda, her mother." He indicated the petite woman next to him, who had Hermione's frizzy hair but with a darker shade of brown.

"I'm Bruce. That's Harry over there." He pointed. The adults started to converse.

Harry and Hermiones' conversation was prematurely ended when the woman fitting Hermione said she was done. Hermione turned and looked at Harry for the first time and was stunned. "You're Harry Potter," she squealed. "I've read all about you."

"It's actually Harry Wayne now," Harry corrected her. "And you've read about me?"

She nodded eagerly. "In _The Dark Lords: A Timeline. _You destroyed the You-Know-Who."

Madam Malkin pulled the pins out of the robes. "All done, dear," she said in an attempt at a neutral tone, although her eyes repeatedly flicked to the scar on Harry's forehead.

The two children stepped down and walked to their families. Hermione indicated Harry. "Mum, Dad, this is Harry Wayne. He's starting his first year as well."

"Harry … Wayne," Hermione's father said slowly, before he turned to Bruce. "Which means you're Bruce Wayne, correct."

Bruce rubbed the back of his head, hating to be recognised. "Correct," he disclosed.

Lucas grinned and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you Mr Wayne."

Bruce returned the smile and took the offered hand. "We're going to get the books next, care to join us?"

Hermione answered. "We've already bought the books on the requirement list. And some additional reading. But I'd like to look at the bookstore again."

Hermione's parents nodded and the group walked to the next shop _Flourish and Blotts. _The bookstore shocked Harry, with the books being stacked as high as the ceiling. Alfred looked at the required book list. "I will buy the books," he told Harry. "You may enjoy your company and look around."

Harry smiled at Alfred, and left with Hermione to a corner of the store. Hermione indicated books seemingly at random and explained them to Harry. "This one is about Hogwarts. This one is about Magic in other cultures. This one is about you."

Harry stopped, and looked at the large volume. "Me?"

Hermione nodded. "It talks about your parents, Lily and James Potter, how they were killed by You-Know-Who, and how you defeated You-Know-Who and then how you vanished from the Wizarding World."

Harry was dumbfounded. "My parents were killed?" His eyes pricked with tears. The Dursleys made no secret of their deaths, but simply said they died in drunken car accident that they were at fault for.

"You didn't know?" Hermione paled. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd have known."

Harry shook his head and walked away to where Alfred was paying for the schoolbooks. "Are we done?" Harry asked.

"One more stop, your wand," Alfred replied.

Harry waited until all the books were bought and placed in a small trunk. Eventually, he, Alfred and Bruce bid their farewells to the Grangers and went to the final store.

Ollivanders was a narrow store, and looked to be almost falling apart. The faded gold letters on the door read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC._

Harry could feel the magical aura as soon as he entered the store, as though the building itself was buzzing with mystical energies.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said from the shadows. A tall, gangly man stepped forwards, his pale grey eyes only matched by his grey hair.

"Hello," Harry replied awkwardly. "I'm here for a wand."

"Yes," the man said. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon Mister Potter." He stared at Harry's eyes and Harry fought the urge to break eye-contact. "You have your mother's eyes. I remember her wand, you know? Ten and a quarter inches, swishy and made of willow. Useful for charm work." His eyes flicked to Harry's hair. "Your father preferred a mahogany wand, eleven inches and pliable. Used mainly for transfiguration."

Harry seethed to himself. It seemed like everybody knew his parents, his life story. Everybody but Harry himself.

Ollivander stepped forwards and stood inches from Harry and peered at the scar. "I sold the wand that did that to you. Thirteen inches, phoenix feather core. Very powerful. And dangerous in the wrong hands." He shook his head sadly. "Enough of this. Let's get your wand found." He held out his hand, and a tape measurer flew from across the store and into his hand. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm right-handed," Harry guessed awkwardly.

Ollivander grabbed Harry's right arm and measured, from finger to wrist, from shoulder to finger, from the second knuckle to elbow. As he measured, he spoke softly, "Every wand has a core: dragon heartstring, unicorn hair or phoenix feather. No wand is the same as another, the size, wood, and length all play a part in if they will choose the Wizard." Harry tried not to flinch as the tape measurer wrapped around his forehead. "That will do," Ollivander said, and the tape measurer fell to the floor.

A wand was pushed into Harry's hand, and immediately taken away. The wands came quickly, just to be snatched away as fast. The pile of discarded wands grew, as did Ollivanders glee. "Maybe, this one," Ollivander said. "Holly and phoenix feather."

Harry took the offered wand, and suddenly felt the warmness from the wand spread into him. Giving it a wave, red and golden sparks flew from the tip and circled before dissipating.

"Very interesting," Ollivander muttered softly.

"Interesting?" Harry asked. "What's interesting?"

"The phoenix that gave you that wand, gave another a wand. The wand that did that to you." He ran his bony finger along Harry's scar. "That wand will do great things for you, Mister Potter."

Harry smiled, awkwardly, and the group left to find Zatanna, who had bought ice-cream for them all. "All done?" she asked.

Bruce nodded. The group ate their ice-cream and talked, except from Harry who ate in silence. His mind was filled with questions: about the Dark Lord, his parents, about magic.

Minutes past until all the ice-creams were gone. "Ready to go back?" Zatanna questioned and everybody linked hands again. "Ekat su kcab ot eynaw ronam."

The world spun again, and by the time Harry regained his bearings he was back at Wayne Manor.


	4. To Hogwarts

Harry spent the remaining weeks of the summer holidays reading his textbooks. Not entirely by choice, although he would have happily read them anyway, but because Bruce had added the books to Harry's training regime as well as the regular physical training.

It was night-time on the last day of August and Harry and Bruce were doing the daily magical training.

Currently, Harry was sat opposite Bruce, who was holding a textbook, _The Standard Book of Spells,_ and quizzing Harry about its contents. "What is the spell for making something levitate?" Bruce asked.

Harry thought for a moment. "Wingardium Leviosa," he answered confidently.

Bruce smiled. "And the wand movement needed?"

"Swish and flick." Harry emulated the needed gesture with his finger.

"What does Incendio do?"

"It's the fire-making charm."

"What spell is also known as 'The Thief's Friend'?"

"Unlocking charm, Alohomora." Harry recited.

"Last question, what is the mending charm?"

"Reparo."

Bruce closed the book and grinned. "Good job, Harry."

Harry returned the grin. "Thanks, I think I've got the hang of this stuff."

"I agree," Bruce replied. "I think if you do well this year, you might be ready to help me out."

Harry's eyes widened. "You mean be your sidekick?"

"Only if you do well at Hogwarts."

Harry hugged Bruce tightly, and didn't let go for a few seconds. "I leave tomorrow," Harry said nervously.

"I know," Bruce said sadly. "I'll miss you."

"How am I going to get to the platform?" Harry asked.

Bruce smiled. "All sorted. I've had Zatanna turn the fireplace in the dining room into a Floo Powder Fireplace," he explained.

"What's that?" Harry questioned.

"Alfred's idea. You throw some Floo Powder into the fireplace, say which other Floo Powder Fireplace you want to go to, and then it takes you there."

"Magic is weird. But useful," Harry stated.

Bruce laughed, nodding. "I know. Now get some sleep, we'll need to be up early tomorrow."

Harry went to bed, and after an hour of excited thinking eventually settled into a light sleep. He woke early the next morning, three o'clock according to his clock, and was now too nervous to return to sleep.

He got dressed in a pair of black trousers and a crimson coloured top, deciding he would get changed into his robes on the train to Hogwarts. He pulled his trunk into the dining room, and sat and read _Magical Theory_, wanting to be as prepared as possible for when he started Hogwarts.

At around four o'clock, Alfred entered the dining room, nodded his head to acknowledge Harry, and wordlessly began to cook an English breakfast. As everything sizzled, Alfred called from the kitchen, "Do you think you are ready for Hogwarts?"

Closing the book, Harry walked to the kitchen. "I'm nervous," he admitted.

Alfred laughed softly. "No need to be nervous, everybody is in the same situation as you. Being away from home for the first time. Just try your best and make the most of it," Alfred advised.

Harry returned to the dining room, and Bruce arrived just as Alfred was plating up breakfast for everybody. "Nervous Harry?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah," he replied, eating his breakfast.

"I thought so. You're sweating more than usual and you're eating faster than you normally do."

Harry ignored him. "What time are we leaving?" he asked.

"The train departs promptly at eleven," Alfred answered, "so I recommend we leave at five-thirty, to account for the time difference."

The three finished their breakfasts and Harry double checked, and then triple checked, he had all his equipment in his trunk. Eventually, it came to be five-thirty and the three stood by the fireplace.

Alfred picked up a small pinch of green powder that was stored in a bag next to the fireplace. "Pay close attention. To use the Floo Network throw the powder and speak clearly," Alfred instructed. "Like so. King's Cross," he enunciated as he threw the powder at the bottom of the fireplace, and Harry ran towards him as emerald flames engulfed Alfred, and then he was gone.

"Was that supposed to happen?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Only one way to find out," Bruce responded. "You go next."

Harry picked up a small pinch of the powder, hurled it at the ground, and yelled, "King's Cross." Harry felt only a small warm sensation as the green fire grew, and when the temperature returned to normal he was stood in a small room.

Exiting the room, Harry was slightly surprised that he was now at a train station, likely to be King's Cross he reasoned, where Alfred stood casually leaning against a nearby wall. "Glad you could do it," Alfred said.

Harry grinned and Bruce soon joined them, his face lightly coated in soot. Bruce looked at the platforms. "What platform do we need," he asked.

"Nine and Three-Quarters," Alfred answered, much to Bruce's confusion.

"Platform Nine… And Three-Quarters?" he repeated incredulously.

"Correct. To gain entry to it, one must simply go through the wall between platforms nine and ten."

The three walked towards the needed platform, and Harry hesitantly placed his hand on the wall separating platform nine and ten. Rather than his hand hitting the wall as Harry expected, the hand simply passed through the wall, leaving an odd tingling sensation. "Wow," Harry whispered.

Looking at the clock, which read 10:40, Bruce looked sadly at Harry. "I guess this is it for a year," he muttered.

Harry's eyes welled with tears. "I guess so."

Alfred placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I believe that Master Harry may leave the school on holidays, if he so wishes."

Nodding eagerly, Harry told him he'd try to come back every holiday, unless something comes up.

"Very good," Alfred said, "but the train leaves soon, so I suggest you find a seat."

Harry grabbed his trunk and faced the wall. Taking a breath, Harry sprinted at the wall, ignoring Bruce's words of encouragement as the wall came closer. Harry closed his eyes as the wall neared, and when he opened them again, he was stood facing a scarlet steam engine on a platform swarmed with parents and students. A pack of owls flew overhead and a group of cats darted between peoples' feet. A sign above read _Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock._

The first few carriages that Harry passed were already crowded with students, some leaning out of the windows to talk to their families, and others jokingly fighting over seats.

Harry pulled his trunk down the platform, looking in the windows of the train for an empty carriage. He passed a chubby, round-faced boy who was frantically searching his pockets, before he turned to the old woman with him, saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

Continuing through the crowd, Harry spotted an empty compartment near the rear of the train. He tried to lift his trunk through the door, but the heavy trunk barely lifted more than an inch before Harry dropped it.

"Want a hand?" Harry looked up and saw a freckled boy with bright red hair.

"Sure," Harry replied gratefully.

The red-head turned to the side and yelled, "Oi, Fred, get here and help!"

Another red hair boy appeared, identical to the first, and with their assistance Harry lifted his trunk onto the train.

"Thank you for your help," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair from out of his eyes.

"Is that…?" one of the twins said suddenly, eyes widening as he pointing at the lightning scar.

"It is," the other one confirmed.

"So, he's him?"

"He is him. Aren't you?" the twin said to Harry.

"Who?" Harry asked, hoping he hadn't been recognised.

"Harry Potter," both twins said in unison.

"Oh, him," replied Harry. "No, I'm not."

"You're not him?"

"I'm Harry Wayne."

The twins' conversation ended prematurely when their mother's voice trailed through the train's open door. "Fred, George, are you in there? Ron needs help with his trunk."

With a final confused glance at Harry, the two left the train to return to their family. Harry quickly left the area and headed into a nearby empty carriage. Pulling his trunk, he tried lifting it to the overhead luggage rack but found it still to be too heavy.

An idea sprung to mind, and Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the trunk. With a swish and then a flick, he said, "Wingardium Leviosa." Expecting the trunk to levitate gracefully, he was surprised when he it remained immobile on the floor. Shrugging, he pushed the trunk under his seat and sat.

Within seconds, the train began to move, and houses began to flash past the window in a blur of colours. Harry felt a degree of nerves building, having no idea of what he was getting himself into.

The compartment door reopened and Harry was greeted by a familiar bush of frizzy brown hair. "Hello Hermione," he greeted cordially.

"Harry," she said, before pausing hesitantly. "I'd like to apologise for how I acted in Diagon Alley. It was inconsiderate of me to-"

Harry held up his hand, ending her apology. "No need to be sorry, Hermione. It wasn't unreasonable to assume somebody knew about themselves."

"Still, I apologise," she said.

Harry decided to change the subject before she could continue her unnecessary apology. "Are you excited for Hogwarts?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "I've read all the books numerous times," she gushed. "But I'm excited to actually learn how to do the spells."

"I tried to do Wingardium Leviosa earlier, but it didn't work," Harry admitted.

Snapping into teaching mode, Hermione demanded, "Show me."

Harry pulled his trunk from under his seat, re-aimed his wand, swished and flicked, and said clearly, "Wingarium Leviosa."

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione said gently. "Maybe its because of your accent. It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, you have to make the 'gar' long, and emphasise the 'o'.

Harry felt his cheeks redden but nodded. "Wingardium Leviosa," he spoke carefully. The trunk began to elevate at a steady rate before slotting into the overhead rack. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

The door slid open again, and Harry thought he was looking at one of the red-haired twins, until he realised this boy was younger. "Mind if I sit here," the boy asked. "Everywhere else is full."

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other before shrugging, and the boy took a seat opposite Harry.

The boy glanced at Harry's forehead, and then pointedly looked out of the window in an attempt to seem like he never tried to look at Harry's scar.

"Hey, Ron." The twins were back, both stood in the compartment doorway. "Listen, we're going to the middle of the train, Lee has a tarantula."

"Got it," Ron mumbled, and Harry noticed how his forehead and begun to sweat more.

"Harry," the other twin said. "Did we introduce ourselves? I'm Fred, this is George," he said as he indicated his twin. "We see you've met Ron. See you around." Both twins left, shutting the door behind them.

Ron stared at Harry before blurting, "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry sighed. "I'm Harry Wayne," he replied.

"You've got the scar, Fred and George said so." His eyes stared at the scar. "You sure you're not him?"

Hermione tried to catch Ron's eyes to silence him, but Harry replied, "I used to be Potter. Then I was adopted and became Harry Wayne."

"So, you are Harry Potter," Ron stated.

"No," Harry responded, his voice firm, "I'm Harry _Wayne._"

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "Do you remember it. When You-Know-Who … you know?"

"Murdered my family?" Harry asked, and Ron nervously nodded. "No. But if you're so fascinated by stories of my relatives' murders, I can tell you about when my Aunt and Uncle were killed."

Ron began to shake his head, but Harry continued. If Ron was going to ask inappropriate question, Harry would make him regret it. "It was a Friday, and we were at a restaurant in America when a crazy guy broke in. He shot my Uncle right in between his eyes," Harry placed a finger on the Ron's forehead for emphasis, "the bullet went straight through him, and his blood just spurted out." Harry paused, relishing in the slight greenness of Ron's face as the details nauseated him. "Anyway, onto my Aunt. The crazy guy had an accomplice with him, and she had a giant mallet. She hit my Aunt over the head with it and her body just cracked and fell to the floor."

Ron's face was now green and he seemed to be swaying in his seat. "Enough," he said.

Harry narrowed his glare. "Are you done asking me about the murder of my family?"

Ron nodded, spluttering out an apology. "You don't get it though," he eventually said once his face had returned to its natural pale colour. "You're like a hero to the Wizarding World." Harry shook his head. "Seriously, you are. You ended a war. My brothers and sister grew up with stories about you, our mum loves you, you killed the guy that murdered my mum's brothers."

"Ron," Harry said firmly, silencing him. "I am not a hero. I do not remember killing any Dark Lord, and I don't want to. I just want a normal school life, where I do not get asked about my murdered family that I was too young to even remember. Understood?"

Ron nodded feebly and the carriage turned to a tense silence. While they sat, the train had left London and was now speeding past the country side.

At around half past twelve, the door slid open again and a smiling, old woman asked, "Anything off the trolley?"

Harry leapt to his feet to look at the magical world's snacks, while Ron's ears turned pink and he mumbled about bringing his own sandwiches, while Hermione spoke about her parents making her bring sugar free snacks. Harry meanwhile, had grabbed a handful of all the choices and paid the woman a Galleon and told her to keep the change.

Ron stared with jealousy as Harry brought his bounty in. "Want some?" Harry asked, offering some kind of treat.

Ron adamantly shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Have one," Harry instructed, wanting to put the argument behind them and be civil, tossing a chocolate frog to Ron and passing one to Hermione.

"Are these really frogs?" Hermione asked, as the frog wriggled in its box.

Ron laughed. "No, but see what cards you get. I'm missing Agrippa and Ptolemy."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other and unwrapped the frogs and picked up their cards. "I got Hobart," Hermione said, looking at her card.

Ron shook his head. "Common card."

Harry looked at his, which had an old man wearing half-moon glasses, with long silver hair and a beard. Under the picture was the name _Albus Dumbledore_. "I got Dumbledore," Harry announced. Harry flipped his card over and read the information. "Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many to be the greatest wizard of modern times. Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, and his work on Alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel."

The three ate and conversed as the train continued, until the chubby boy that Harry had passed on the platform entered the compartment. "Sorry," he said nervously, "but have any of you seen a toad?"

When they shook their heads, the boy began to sob, "I've lost him. He keeps getting away from me."

Harry replied, "If he keeps getting away from you, that means he keeps coming back to you. He'll turn up." He indicated the seat next to Ron and the boy sat.

"I'm Neville, by the way," the boy said.

"Don't worry about your toad," Ron said. "It could be worse, you could have a lazy animal that never moves." He pulled a fat grey rat from his pocket. "This is Scabbers."

Harry decided to change the conversation, to keep Neville's mind off pets. "What house does everyone want?"

Hermione was quick to reply. "Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. I like the thought of being in the house of the brave or the smart."

Neville was next. "My parents were in Gryffindor. My gran wants me to be there as well."

Ron groaned. "You think that's bad? All my family is Gryffindor. Imagine if we got Slytherin."

"That's the one You-Know-Who was in?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron said sadly, slumping in his seat. Harry deduced that he was worried about the sorting.

"What do your family do?" Harry questioned.

"Mum stays at home, Dad works for the Ministry of Magic, Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, Bill's a curse-breaker for Gringotts," Ron's comment started a different topic in his mind. "Did any of you hear about Gringotts?" Neville nodded, but Hermione and Harry shook their heads. "It was robbed," Ron explained.

"What did they take," Hermione asked.

"Nothing, that's why it's weird. They didn't take any money from any of the vaults, they just left without taking anything. Everyone says it must have been a really strong and dark wizard."

The group began to theorise about what could have happened, when the door opened and a pale blond boy sauntered in, flanked closely two thickset boys, one on each of his sides. "Is it true, what they're all saying?" the blond boy asked. "That Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is it you?" he said, looking pointedly at Harry.

"You must be mistaken, I'm Harry Wayne," Harry corrected.

The boy fixed his gaze on the scar that was unhidden on Harry's forehead. "I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," he said grandly, and Harry was reminded of his Uncle when he tried to increase his importance.

Neville rolled his eyes, and Ron sniggered. "Think that's funny, do you?" Malfoy asked. "No need to ask who you are. My father has told me all about you, red-hair, freckles, hand-me-down robes. Obviously a Weasley." He turned back to Harry. "You'll discover that some wizards are better than others. I can help you there." He held his hand out for Harry to shake.

"I can make my own decisions," Harry replied casually.

Malfoy withdrew his hand, his cheeks now flushed pink. "I'd be careful, _Potter_," he said calmly, stressing the incorrect last name. "Unless you want to join your parents, I suggest you stop conversing with the blood-traitors, mudbloods, and Squibs."

Malfoy suddenly found himself with four wands pointed at him. "Leave," Harry ordered.

"Are you going to fight," Malfoy scoffed.

"Unless you want to be on the receiving end of my Incendio, I suggest you go," Harry warned.

Malfoy ignored him, and advanced along with the thugs that flanked him.

The group reacted quickly. Ron sent a spell towards the boy on the left, and bats flew out of his nose and sped around him. Neville yelled, "Expelliarmus," and a red light erupted from his wand sent the boy on the right backwards.

Hermione aimed her wand at Malfoy, and said "Petrificus Totalus." Malfoys arms snapped to his sides and his legs stuck together as he toppled backwards, stopping when he hit the door.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry cast, pulling the stiff Malfoy into the air and out of the room.

The two remaining friends of Malfoy, left soon followed by a freed Malfoy who ran after them.

"We're going to be in trouble," Hermione panicked. "And then we'll be expelled."

"It'll be fine," said Ron. "Malfoy started it all anyway." The others voiced their agreement.

A voice sounded throughout the train, "We will be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken separately."

The four quickly got changed, throwing on the robes over their shirts.

The train slowed to a halt, and all the students tried to push past each other to reach a cold, dark station. Harry shivered as a cold breeze blew.

Then a lamp came into view, bobbing up and down as it approached. As the light appeared, Harry saw it was held a giant of a man, with a bushy brown beard. "Firs-years over 'ere," the man shouted with a booming voice.

All the first years, around forty by Harry's guess, followed the man down a slippery and narrow trail. The path was dark, and the large man blocked out the light he was holding. "Yeh'll see Hogwarts in a sec," the man yelled as they rounded a corner, "right 'ere."

The path opened suddenly into an edge of a great lake, illuminated by the moonlight. Perched upon a mountain on the other side of the lake, was a grand castle, it's windows reflecting the stars in the sky, shadows cast by the many towers the castle had.

"No more'n four to a boat," the man said, indicating a fleet of small wooden boats by the shore.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione entered a boat and waited for the other boats to be filled.

"Everyone in," the man shouted. "Right then, FORWARD."

The boats moved in unison, smoothly skimming the water, advancing to the castle that everybody was enthralled by.

Harry felt something slimy next to him, and looked to see a toad. He prodded Neville and pointed. "Trevor," he said gratefully, scooping up the amphibian.

The boats stopped on the shoreline, and everybody clambered out into the shadow of the majestic castle. They followed the giant man up a flight of stone steps and crowded the huge, oak front door.

The man raised his fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

_This is it. _Harry thought. _This is Hogwarts._

**Review. Do people think Harry should be Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?**


	5. Sortings

The door swung open immediately. A tall, dark grey-haired witch in forest green robes stood. A stern look was etched on her face and she possessed an aura of authority.

"The new firs-years, Professor McGonagall," said the man.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." The woman pulled the door wide open, allowing the new students to see inside for the first time.

The entrance hall was large, about the same as Wayne Manor's entrance room. The walls were made of stone and lit with flaming torches that hung from wall sconces, the ceiling seemed to be transparent as Harry could see the night sky above twinkling with stars, and an impressive marble staircase faced them which led to the upper floors.

Harry could hear the chatter of people in the next room, likely to be the other students, as Professor McGonagall led them across the room and into small chamber room.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said, her voice carrying through the room with no effort. "The start-of-term feast will begin soon. But before that you must be sorted into your houses. Your house will be like your family for your time at Hogwarts. You will have classes with your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your free time in your house's common room."

She stopped, looking around to make sure everyone was paying attention. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin." Harry noticed the way her mouth twitched and the mention of Slytherin. "Each house has its own history and has produced many great and well-known witches and wizards. While you are here, you will earn house points by doing good, and lose them for breaking rules. The house with the most points at the end of the year will win the house cup. The sorting ceremony will commence in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. Do try to make yourselves presentable."

Harry thought the house system was absurd. A few years ago, he had just been adopted by Bruce Wayne, and years before that, he was a scared child living with the Dursleys. His personality had changed so much with each iteration of himself, and now he was being sorted at age eleven to decide his 'family' for the next seven years.

McGonagall left, and the room began to talk between themselves. Harry turned to Ron and asked, "How do they sort us?"

Ron shrugged nervously. "Not sure, Fred and George told me we had to fight a troll, but I'm pretty sure they were joking."

Hermione scoffed loudly. "A troll? Please, that would be a death sentence for a first-year student. And if you'd read Hogwarts: A History, you would know we're sorted by the Sorting Hat."

"The Sorting Hat?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, but her reply was drowned out by the shrieks and screams of the other students. Harry looked, and saw about twenty ghosts who had phased through the wall and into the room. Their skins were pearly-white and mostly transparent, and none of them seemed too interested in the first-year students. Harry looked at them, there was a man wearing a neck ruff and tights, a jolly fat man who seemed to be a monk, a man covered in blood, and a woman who seemed uninterested by everything. A group of spectral nuns passed followed by a ghostly knight.

The monk was talking to the ghost in the ruff. "Forgive and forget, we ought to give Peeves another chance."

The ruff ghost shook his head, which seemed to move far more than it should. "My dear Friar, we have given him all the chances he deserves - I say what are you all doing in here?" The ghost said as he noticed the first-years.

Nobody answered, and the silence filled the air as the ghosts stared.

"New students," the monk shouted in realisation. "About to be sorted presumably."

A few students nodded, still silent.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff, my old house." The monk smiled warmly.

"Move along," Professor McGonagall's voice sounded, showing her return. The ghosts obeyed flying through the opposite wall. Once the room was full of only the living McGonagall commanded, "Now, form a line and follow me."

Heavy footed with nerves, Harry stood behind Hermione and in front of Ron, and the line walked out of the chamber, back across the entrance hall and into the Great Hall.

Harry had thought he had been seasoned the unusual, being raised by a crime fighting man in a batsuit and now around magic, but he was wrong.

The room was lit by thousands of candles which were floating in the air above four long tables, where the rest of the Hogwart's students were sat. The tables were laid with golden plates, with cutlery laid out, and goblets next to the plates.

At the far end of the hall were the Hogwart's staff, with Harry recognising Professor Quirrell and Hagrid. Dumbledore sat in the middle, looking just like his chocolate frog card, smiling and grandfatherly.

The line stopped at the teacher's table, facing the other students. To stop anybody looking and recognising him, Harry stared at the starry ceiling above him.

Hermione whispered to him, "It's not actually a view of outside, it's enchanted to look like it."

Harry looked back down, as McGonagall placed a stool on the floor in front of the new students. On top of the stool, she placed an old pointed wizard's hat, which was tattered and dirtied, to the point of resembling one of Alfred's rag washcloths.

_How does that decide where we go_? Harry questioned himself.

The room was silent, and then the hat twitched. The rip near the bottom of the hat tore open like a mouth, and began to sing.

The whole room was full of applause when the hat finished its song, and it bowed to each table. Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a long parchment in her hand. "When I read your name, put on the hat, and sit and the stool to be sorted," she instructed. "Abbott, Hannah."

The blonde pigtailed girl stumbled out the line and to the hat. The hat sat on her head, covering her eyes, for a few seconds, before loudly yelling, "Hufflepuff!"

The table to the right erupted into applause as Hannah approached, and the monk ghost waved merrily.

Harry zoned out, choosing to focus when a name he recognised was called. When Hermione left for the hat, she pulled it eagerly over her head, and sat in silence for nearly a minute before the hat announced, "Gryffindor!"

Neville was called, and he fell clumsily to the floor on his way over. The hat was quiet for longer than it was with Hermione before he joined the bushy haired girl in Gryffindor.

Malfoy strutted proudly when he was called, and the hat barely skimmed his head before he was put in Slytherin.

"Wayne, Harry," shouted McGonagall.

Harry stepped forwards, and the room broke into hush whispers.

"Is that Potter?"

"She said Wayne."

"I can see the scar."

Harry dropped the hat over his eyes, making sure he could not see those who were looking at him.

"Interesting," said a small voice in his ears which seemed to reverberate through his mind. "Very difficult, Mr Wayne."

"You're in my head?" Harry half asked half stated.

"Indeed, I am."

"You can see everything?"

"If you are referring to Bruce Wayne's secret, yes I see. It is of no concern of mine. I am more concerned with your mind."

Harry relaxed. "What do you see in my head then?"

The hat laughed. "I see much," it answered. "The courage and bravery of a Gryffindor, the ambition and cunning of Slytherin, the hard-working attitude of Hufflepuff, and the intelligence and perception of a Ravenclaw."

"Where do you think I'll fit best?" Harry queried.

"I think that is obvious."

Harry agreed as the hat yelled it's choice, "Best be … "** (Comment for the house you think Harry should be in)**


	6. Ravenclaw!

"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat announced, briefly filling the grand hall with a stunned silence, which was quickly replaced by a thunderous applause from the Ravenclaw table, a polite applause from the Hufflepuffs, a few claps from Gryffindor, and scowls from Slytherin.

Harry's eyes briefly looked at Hermione and Neville, both of which were amongst the clapping Gryffindors and Ron clapped loudly in the line as he waited to be sorted.

Harry knew the Sorting Hat's decision was the correct one. While he admired Bruce's ambition, bravery and hardworking attitude, the only reason Batman was on the same level as the Superpowered heroes, such as Superman, Wonder Woman, and the Flash, was because of Batman's intelligence, perception and creativity, all traits which Harry shared and valued.

He took off the Sorting Hat and placed it back on its seat and walked over to the Ravenclaw table. Slotting himself next to an Indian girl, named Padma if Harry's recollection was correct, and a pale boy with black swooping hair, called Michael Corner.

Harry turned to look at the staff table, which was easier to see now that his back was not to it. At the far left was Hagrid, who's impressive size had him hanging over his chair, who had clapped at Harry's sorting, albeit with surprise. In the middle of the table, was a golden throne occupied by Dumbledore. His long silver beard shone like the animated stars on the ceiling, and on his face was a polite and grandfatherly smile. Harry saw Professor Quirrell who smiled weakly when him and Harry made eye-contact.

Ron was next to be sorted, and his face had turned back to the pale green that Harry seen on the train, and sweat clung to Ron's forehead. The hat briefly touched Ron's head, before it yelled, "Gryffindor!" Harry clapped and shrugged when Ron looked apologetically at him.

Harry glanced at his empty plate as the last person, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment and carried the Sorting Hat away, as Dumbledore stood up.

Dumbledore's smile was wide, and his arms were opened wide. "Welcome," he said, his voice carrying through the room with little effort. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the banquet begins, I have some important words. Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak." He sat back down as everybody who was not a first year clapped and cheered, while the first years looked uncomfortably at each other in confusion.

"Is he senile?" Harry said aloud, aimed to nobody.

"Senile!" The offended voice came from an older student who sat opposite Harry, her long curly blonde hair bounced as she spoke. "Albus Dumbledore is not senile. Dumbledore is one of the greatest wizards of our time. He's just … eccentric. In future, you should watch what you say about Hogwart's staff, especially in front of prefects like myself."

"You're the Ravenclaw prefect?"

The girl nodded, giving a genuine smile. "Penelope Clearwater. I'm the fifth-year female prefect for Ravenclaw."

"I'll keep you in mind if I ever need help with anything," Harry replied truthfully. It was one of Bruce's lessons, make allies, especially ones with more influence and knowledge than you had.

Penelope smiled. "Feel free. Now, eat up," she said.

Harry looked back at the previously empty plates, which were now stacked with food. Sausages and bacon, Yorkshire pudding, various potato options, beef, lamb, pork, and other choices were lined upon the table.

Harry scooped up all of what he wanted and started to eat it. It was nice, but admittedly not as good as Alfred's homecooked meals.

A ghost flew by and looked longingly at the food, her beautiful face carrying an expression of sadness. She smiled feebly as she saw Harry look at her. Harry realised it was the ghost from earlier, that seemed apathetic towards all. "Muggle-born, I assume?" she asked sadly. "It's usually the Muggle-borns that stare."

"Raised by Muggles," Harry replied uncertainly. "But Half-blood by birth. I've never seen … someone like you."

The ghost laughed gloomily. "You mean a ghost." Harry nodded. "Ghosts are a sight you will have to get used to, you'll see a few of them around the wizarding world."

Harry had many questions about ghosts running through his head, his inquisitive side coming out as he asked the most important questions. "What are ghosts? Why are you here? Who are you?"

"I can see why you are a Ravenclaw. Ghosts are the remainder of those that have passed on, who elected to stay on this realm rather than go on to the next plane. We may do this for many reasons; fear of death, unfinished business, to stay with loved ones. But, when we decide to stay, the decision is forever. Once a person becomes a ghost that stays, they can never leave. As for myself, my name has long been erased from history, but the students here refer to me as the Grey Lady. I believed I died around," she paused to think, "800 years ago. I must confess, after your 500th Deathday, you tend to lose count."

"800 years," Harry repeated in shock, trying to imagine simply existing for that long was unimaginable.

"Yes, but enough of talking to me. You are lucky enough to have the living to talk to and food to eat." With that the Grey Lady raised her hand politely and glided silently away.

Harry went back to his now cooled food, and returned to eating it. He ate in silence before he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked to see it was the Indian girl, offering her hand out to shake.

Harry shook the offered hand and the girl smiled. "Padma Patil," she introduced.

"Harry Wayne."

"We were talking about you earlier," Padma admitted indicating her and the two other first year girls next to her. "The Sorting Hat called you Harry Wayne but you fit the description of Harry Potter. We want this settled completely. Are you Harry Potter?" When Padma asked this, the majority of the students at the table turned to listen, some more subtle than others.

Harry sighed. "I used to be called Harry Potter. I know the stories you all say about me, that I killed Voldemort and ended a war. Truth is, I'm not that boy. My birth parents were killed by him, something I only found out recently. Then my extended family took me in before they were killed. Then I was formally adopted, I changed my last name to Wayne to honour him. The name 'Potter' means nothing to me, I am not their child, and as far as I'm concerned to suggest otherwise is an insult to the man that cared for and raised me. If that answer pleases you all, I am Harry Wayne." With all that said, Harry turned back to his food and ate in silence.

When the table had finished their meals, the main courses vanished instantly. A moment later the deserts appeared in their places, consisting of ice-cream, chocolate cakes, doughnuts, and everything else.

Harry helped himself to a slice of cake and a scoop of ice-cream and listened to everybody around chat amongst themselves about their upcoming lessons and their families. "I'm a pure-blood, not that that matters," said Padma, "and I think I'm looking forwards to Defence Against the Dark Arts the most, both of my parents used to be tutors for it in Bangladesh."

Michael was the next to talk. "Half-blood. I think I'll enjoy Potions the most."

"What about you Harry?" Penelope asked.

"Half-blood by birth. But raised by Muggles as long as I can remember. I've read all the books for our lessons, and I think I'm looking forwards to anything practical." One of the only reasons Harry was eager to learn magic was to help out Batman as his new sidekick.

Penelope laughed in agreement. "Exactly what I wanted to do in my first year here. But, you have to know the theory first, and even then, you'll only learn minor things."

Harry glanced at the staff table. "So those are the teachers? What do they all teach?"

Penelope pointed at Hagrid on the far left, who was drinking from an oversized goblet. "Hagrid the gamekeeper." Her finger moved to the next staff members as she introduced them. "Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff and the Herbology teacher. Professor Flitwick, our head of house and the Charms teacher. Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor and the Transfiguration teacher. Dumbledore, you know about him already. That's Professor Quirrell, he used to teach Muggle Studies but this year he's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry stared at Quirrell, who was talking to another teacher with pale skin, greasy black hair, and a hooked nose.

Then the pain started. The greasy haired teacher looked past Quirrell and straight at Harry. The pain shot from the scar of Harry's forehead, a burning sensation, like hot pins had been pushed into his skull.

Harry's hand rushed to his head.

"Are you ok?" Penelope asked concernedly.

The pain had gone as quickly as it started, and Harry withdrew his hand. "I'm fine." Harry stared back at the greasy haired professor, but he was no longer looking back. "Who's that next to Professor Quirrell?"

"Professor Snape. Head of Slytherin and the Potions Master. Watch out for him, rumour is he's after Quirrell's job and he knows a lot about Dark Arts."

Harry continued to watch the Potion Master for a while but he never looked at him again.

Eventually, desserts were finished with and disappeared, and Dumbledore rose to his feet again. The room fell silent with anticipation.

"Now that we are all watered and fed, I have the start-of-term notices to give you. The first years should be aware, the forest on the ground is forbidden to all students. Our caretaker, Mr Filch, wishes to remind you that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors. For those now in their second year or above, Quidditch trials will take place in the second week of this term, those interested should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must say that this year, the third-floor corridor is out of bounds to everybody who does not wish to die a painful death."

Harry looked at Penelope. "Is he serious?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied, although her face was confused. "It's strange, usually he explains why things are banned, the Forbidden Forest is full of beasts, unsupervised magic could be dangerous. I wonder if he told any of the prefects." Her eyes dotted to the other prefects in the room, Harry noticing they all looked as perplexed as Penelope was.

Dumbledore spoke again, his voice ending the conversations that had started. "And now, bedtime."

Penelope stood up. "First year Ravenclaws, follow me," she instructed.

The few Ravenclaw first years, Harry noted there was only eight, all stood obediently and followed. They walked out of the hall, up a staircase, through doorways, and up another staircase which Harry was convinced moved.

Finally, they reached their destination. An oak door with a bronze eagle knocker hanging from it. Penelope waited until the first years were all stood by her. "What you should know about Ravenclaw is we value intelligence, creativity and originality. Because of that, we do not have passwords to remember, we have riddles to solve. To gain entry we must be asked by the eagle and answer correctly. If you do not solve it, either wait for somebody to help, or try again."

The eagle knocker seemed to wait until Penelope was finished talking, before it stretched to life, opening its beak and asking, "What can you put in a bag to make it lighter?"

"There is no one right answer," Penelope explained to the younger children. "We just need an intelligent answer that makes sense."

Michael was the first to answer, "Helium." The Pure-bloods looked confused by this but the answer made sense to all those raised by Muggles.

"A hole," Harry tried, a hole in a bag would make everything fall out and be lighter.

"The Lumos charm," replied Padma, and all the wizard raised first years nodded in agreement.

"All good answers," the eagle responded. It cawed loudly and the door opened.

The Ravenclaw common room was a wide and round room with arched windows showing the school grounds below. Desks were dotted around the room, next to bookcases crammed of novels.

Near a staircase stood a tall marble statue of a woman, who smiled as the first years approached.

Penelope took the timetables that were hanging on a notice board and handed them out to the students before she ordered the girls up the staircase and to the left, while the boys went to the right.

Through the doors were their beds, large and inviting, with dark blue duvets and bronze coloured curtains. The trunks were already in their rooms, and the boys simply pulled on the nightclothes and climbed into their beds.

Within minutes, exhausted by the train, the food, and the nerves, all the boys were asleep.


End file.
